Hunting the Skipper: The Cruise of the «Seafowl» Sloop. Fenn George Manville

can’t see ’em. I’ve just been counting of ’em over, sir, by touching ’em one at a time and telling ’em to shout who it was.”

      “They’re all safe, then?”

      “Hope so, sir; but I wouldn’t try to go no furder, sir. Now the fire’s started it’s a-going on like furnaces, sir, and it’s every man for himself. We can’t do no more. Can’t you feel how the wind’s got up?”

      “Yes, Tom; it comes rushing from seaward and whistles quite cold against the back of my head, while in front the glow is quite painful.”

      “Yes, sir, and it’s growing worse and worse.”

      “It’s my belief, Tom, that this wind will fan the flames till the forest will take fire before long as well as the huts.”

      “’Fore long, sir?” said the man, in the intervals of coughing and choking. “Why, it’s been on fire ever so long, and roaring away right up to the tops of the trees. We shall be hearing some of them come toppling down before long.”

      “I wish this smoke would blow over, for I can’t make out where we are.”

      “No, sir, nor nobody else neither. Oh! Here’s one of us, if it ain’t a nigger. Here, who are you?”

      “I’m Jenks, messmet, I think,” came hoarsely. “But I say, where’s the orficer?”

      “I’m here, Jenks,” cried Murray. “What is it?”

      “On’y this, sir; I just wanted to know whether fresh clothes’ll be sarved out after this here job, for I’m sure as I shan’t be decent.”

      “What, have you got your shirt burned, my lad?”

      “’Tarn’t on’y my shirt, sir; I’m ’most all tinder, and I had to back out or I should soon ha’ been cooked.”

      “Keep back, my lads!” cried Murray now, and by degrees he managed to get his little party all together in what seemed to be an open space where all was smoke and smouldering ashes, where the men stood coughing, while the heat was terrific.

      “Stand still, my lad; stand still!” cried Murray.

      “Can’t, sir,” growled the dim figure addressed; “it smarts so.”

      “Tut, tut, tut, tut!” ejaculated Murray. “Can you make out which way the sea lies, May?”

      “No, sir; I’ve been a-trying to.”

      “We can’t stay here, my lads, and we must make for the shore. It would be madness to go on now.”

      “That’s a true word, sir,” growled Tom May.

      “I want to know where our chaps are, but I can’t hear nothing but the fire going it. Seems to me as if we’ve set all Africa afire, and it’s going on a mile a minute.”

      “Who knows where the slave barrack lies?” cried Murray. “It seems horrible, but we must make sure that the fire has caught there.”

      “Seems to me, sir,” said one of the men, “that we’re a-standing in the middle of it here.”

      “I know it ketched fire, sir,” said May.

      “How can you be sure, man?” said Murray angrily, for he was smarting with pain, and forced to close the lids over his stinging eyes.

      “Set it afire myself, sir, and the flames run up the bamboo postesses which set ’em snapping and crackling and going on popping and banging just as if the marine jollies was practising with blank cartridge on an exercise day.”

      “But are you sure, Tom?”

      “Sure as sure, sir. Mr Anderson never thought it would go like this here. He’d got a kind of idee that we should be able to light all the niggers’ huts one at a time, ’stead of which as soon as we started a few on ’em they set all the rest off, and the job was done.”

      “Done, my man!” said Murray. “Why, hark at the roar right away yonder.”

      “Oh, yes, sir,” grumbled the man; “I’m a-harking fast enough. There she goes, and as somebody said, I dunno now whether it was me or one of my messmates, we seem to ha’ set all Africa going, and it won’t stop till there’s no more wood to burn.”

      “Well,” said Murray decisively, “one thing’s very plain: we can do no more, and we must make for the river.”

      “But what about orders, sir?” said the man. “We was to do it thorough, and see as the whole blessed place was a-blazing.”

      “Well, it is, my man,” said Murray. “The first lieutenant didn’t mean me to get my men burned as well.”

      “Skeercely, sir,” said one of the men. “I don’t know how my messmates are, but I feel as if I was a bacon pig after killing time, and the singeing’s done.”

      “Forward, then, and keep close, my lads. I think it looks lighter ahead there. Keep together.”

      The midshipman started forward through the blinding smoke, panting and gasping, while at every step the hot ashes emitted sparks and the heat became more intense. But at the end of a score of painful paces a strong hand gripped him by the arm and a hoarse voice growled —

      “Beg pardon, sir, but this here won’t do.”

      “Right, May,” cried the midshipman. “I was just going to say so. Halt, my lads. Here, right wheel!”

      Tramp, tramp, tramp, with the smoke and sparks rising; and the big sailor growled again in protest.

      “Wuss and wuss, sir.”

      “Yes. – Let’s try this way, my lads.”

      “This here’s wusser still, your honour,” growled another of the men.

      “Yes: it’s horrible,” cried Murray. “Halt! Now, all together, shout with me, ‘Seafowl ahoy!’”

      The men shouted, and then again, three times, but elicited no reply, and the roar and crackle of the blazing forest seemed to increase.

      “Here, which of you can make out where the river lies?” cried Murray.

      “Not me, sir,” grumbled one of the men out of the stifling smoke, “or I’d soon be into it!”

      “Here, once more. I don’t think we have tried this way,” cried Murray, almost in despair. “Look, Tom May, this does look a little lighter, doesn’t it? – No,” continued the lad huskily, and without waiting for the able-seaman’s reply. “Here, try this way, for the flames seem to be mounting higher there. Keep up your pluck, my lads, and follow me. Are you all there?”

      “Ay, ay, sir!” cried the sailor. “We’re all here, arn’t we, messmates?”

      “Ay, ay!” came in a deep growl.

      “Then follow me close,” said Murray. “Everything depends upon your keeping together.”

      “Oh, we’ll keep together, sir,” said May. “Won’t we, messmates?”

      “Ay, ay!” said another of the men. “But I don’t quite like this here job.”

      “No, no, my lads; it’s horrible for you,” said Murray, as he tramped on, fighting with his despair.

      “’Tarn’t wuss for us, sir, than it is for you,” said Tom.

      “Poor fellows!” thought the midshipman, and he ground his teeth with rage and pain. “But I ought to have led them better.” Then aloud, as an idea struck him, “You, Tom, fire a shot upward, and then as he reloads, the next man fire, as I give orders. The others listen for the reply. Some of our fellows must hear the shots. – Halt!”

      The men stood together in the deep gloom, for the smoke rose from around them in every direction.

      Then, heard distinctly above the roar and crackle of the flames, came the clear sharp-sounding report of the seaman’s musket.

      “Number